


I Think He Knows

by WrtrGrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cooking, Fluff, I Love You, M/M, Making Up, Mother-Son Relationship, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrtrGrl/pseuds/WrtrGrl
Summary: When Draco says "I love you" Harry doesn't know how to react. Lucky Molly is there to catch him before he crumbles, and help him make sense of his own feelings.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 90
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	I Think He Knows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pineau_noir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir/gifts).



**I Think He Knows**

‘Because I love you!’

The shout comes from the family room, drawing Molly’s attention away from the meal she has been preparing. A stunned silence follows that seems to echo louder than the words themselves, and, before she can even process the situation, Draco Malfoy comes storming out through the kitchen.

A flush has blossomed against his paler-than-usual skin and his blue eyes (usually narrowed and unyielding) are wide, leaving him looking unusually vulnerable as he throws open the back door and disappears out into the yard.

Surprise makes Molly still, and she glances back over her shoulder toward the family room. Harry is standing in the middle of the room, green eyes wide with shock and surprise as he stares after the young Malfoy.

‘Goodness,’ Molly murmurs as the kitchen door swings shut again.

Of course she had known that things had changed between Harry and the young Malfoy heir—had even suspected that things were not quite so platonic as they seemed (she was, after all, the mother of six boys and had noticed with interest the coveting stares and secret smiles)—yet she had not realised things were quite so serious between them.

Molly hesitates, hovering between going to Harry and offering him the comfort he clearly needs and minding her own business.

Harry takes a deep breath and lets it all out in one big whoosh, his whole body seeming to deflate with the exhale. He flops back onto the couch with a groan of frustration and runs both hands through his hair.

‘What the hell is _wrong_ with me?’ he grumbles to the ceiling through his hands.

Right. That does it. Molly spells her knives and spices down to the bench and sets the stew pot to a simmer. She brushes her hands off against her apron and fetches two mugs from the cupboard. Almost without thinking, she flicks her wand toward the small jar of coffee beans she’s kept on hand ever since she discovered Harry’s preference for the drink.

Though, thinking now on the young Malfoy’s disdain for tea and apparent love of the—in Molly’s opinion—overly caffeinated drink, she wonders if Harry’s taste for it isn’t entirely his own.

She busies herself making sandwiches, waiting patiently for Harry to compose himself. She knows from previous experience that when it comes to teenage boys, it is always best to let them come to you.

She puts a stasis charm over the tea and coffee and sandwiches and returns to her dinner preparations. Ten minutes later, she is rewarded by a tentative shuffling into the kitchen.

Molly doesn’t turn when Harry sits down, dragging a chair out from the table and dropping into it with an audible thud; instead, she switches from chopping vegetables by hand to levitating them above the cutting board, slicing them with a flick of her wand and directing the spices and oils to mix through the vegetables in a swirling mid-air dance.

She turns to reach for a pot, chancing a quick glance at Harry as she does so. His eyes are fixed on the display, watching with wide eyes, a smile lurking in the corners of his lips. She flicks her gaze away before he notices her watching and hides a smile.

Good to know that trick still works.

She flicks her wand at the mugs and sandwiches, spelling them towards the table.

Harry blinks in surprise when the sandwiches come to a standstill in front of him.

‘You looked like you could use a cuppa,’ she says by way of explanation, glancing back at him with a soft smile.

‘Er, thanks,’ says Harry, his neck turning red.

He reaches for the sandwiches and takes a bite. Surprise lights his face. ‘Cheese and butter?’

‘Your favourite,’ says Molly, setting the dishes to wash.

He ducks his head, but his lips twitch up into a soft smile. A victory if ever she saw one.

Molly tucks the vegetables into the oven and sets a timer. She turns to the table, but Harry, hunched over his sandwiches and sipping his coffee, doesn’t quite look ready for conversation, so she steps toward the cupboard.

‘It’s been a few nights since I’ve done a proper dessert. What do you think, Harry, should I make a pudding? Or perhaps some brownies? What do you think your Mr Malfoy would enjoy?’

Harry almost chokes on his coffee. ‘My—er.’ Harry clears his throat. ‘He’s not…er, well that is, um. Lemon slice, actually. I mean, you make a really nice one, and I think…well, he’d like that.’

‘Alright,’ she says with a smile. ‘Lemon slice it is. My, it’s been quite a while since I’ve made a lemon slice. What do you think, should we add a bit of curd?’

Harry nods. ‘Yeah,’ he says, and smiles. ‘With that crunchy base you do. Like the one from that cheesecake you did the other day.’

‘Oh yes,’ says Molly, spelling ingredients out of the cupboard as Harry speaks. ‘That will pair quite nicely.’

Harry reaches for another sandwich and blinks down at the empty plate in surprise. Molly sends a few more his way. Then she turns her gaze deliberately away from him and sets about measuring out ingredients.

With her other boys, it was always easy to know what they needed. They were such loud and boisterous things (well, with the exception of Percy) that it took hardly any coaxing at all before they were spilling their worries to her or Arthur.

Harry, though, was different. He had been raised to be different.

She glances toward the back door, wondering which of the fields her reluctant visitor is roaming about in this time. For the briefest moment, she considers sending for Arthur, or even Bill, but she dismisses the idea as soon as it occurs to her. Once upon a time, Malfoy— _Draco_ , she reminds herself, glancing over at Harry—might have tried to run away. Now, though, she rather thinks it’s more than just his safety that is keeping him here.

‘I must admit, he’s not quite what I expected,’ she says, still watching the back door, absentmindedly stirring flour and eggs together.

Harry snorts. ‘Tell me about it,’ he says dryly.

When she looks back at him, he flushes crimson and concentrates on his coffee, taking a sip with far more concentration than is required.

‘I…Sorry. I mean, you know, if he’s caused you any trouble or anything. I know he can be, er, difficult.’

‘Harry, dear, you’re talking to the woman who raised a dragon tamer, a curse breaker, and the creators of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes,’ she says with a smile. ‘Draco Malfoy is not as troublesome as he thinks he is.’

Harry laughs and some of the tension lifts away from his shoulders. ‘That’s pretty much his whole thing, isn’t it?’ he says, grinning down at his sandwich as he peels away the crusts. ‘He likes to pretend that he’s…mean, I guess? But underneath…’ he flushes and glances up at her. ‘This is a bit weird.’

‘What is, dear?’

‘Talking about Draco,’ he says, all but shredding the sandwich to pieces. ‘With you. I mean, considering…’ he trails off, shrugging one shoulder and frowning down at his sandwich. ‘I’m sorry. About how things ended with me and Ginny.’

She pauses in her mixing, considering him. ‘Would you mind helping me?’ she asks.

Surprise lifts his head from its drooped position, and he nods. ‘Uh, sure,’ he says and pushes himself out of his chair.

She vanishes the mixture she’s made so far and, at Harry’s puzzled expression, explains, ‘baking is far more satisfying when you work with your hands. Could you measure out two cups of flour?’

Harry nods and does so, moving first to wash his hands and then reaching for the flour without Molly having to tell him which container it is. She smiles. If she’d have instructed Ron or Percy or even Ginny there’d have been a lot of griping and question-asking just over which container it was, let alone any of the rest of the instructions.

Harry, on the other hand, relaxes into the motion with ease, and they work in silence until Molly decides that Harry has unwound enough to talk.

‘So,’ she says, keeping her gaze steadily on the biscuit base she’s making. ‘Tell me a bit more about Draco. I admit I’m finding it difficult to start a conversation with him.’

Harry snorts again. ‘Yeah, I bet,’ he says, his brows furrowing, and he sighs heavily. ‘Count yourself lucky. Talking with him is pretty much the same as fighting with him. Even when he’s complimenting you he has to make it sound like an insult. He’s just so…ugh, _Malfoy_ -like, you know? So obnoxious and self-important and superior. Everything has to be _his_ way. And he always has to be right, even when he _knows_ he’s wrong. You know we had a fight the other day about Muggle clocks? _Muggle clocks_! Apparently, twenty-four hour time is “just wrong” and a “ridiculous notion,” even though there are _twenty four hours_ in the day; and no matter how many times I tried to explain that digital Muggle clocks tell the time with numbers, he just couldn’t get it through that thick skull of his because oh, he’s taken a few Muggle Studies classes so now he’s an “expert”. God! He’s such a ridiculous prat!’

Without meaning to, Molly glances toward the clock hanging up by the entrance of the kitchen. Five hands point Work, three to home, and one…Molly swallows and looks away sharply, refocusing her gaze on Harry.

His eyes go wide, and guilt washes over him. ‘I…shit I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—God, look at me, prattling on about broken clocks. Malfoy’s right, I _am_ an idiot.’

Molly hides a smile. ‘You like him a lot, don’t you?’ she says. Her sorrow (a familiar companion now, rather than a constant ache) steps aside and allows her to take joy from Harry’s now-obvious crush.

Harry’s eyes go wide. ‘I…well, I…that’s not…’ His neck goes red, and his gaze flicks sideways toward her and away again.

She hands him several eggs and says, in as light a voice as she can manage, ‘I’m glad you’ve found someone you enjoy spending time with,’ as she kneads the biscuit mixture with her knuckles.

Molly hears him swallow. ‘Er…thanks…I mean I know we argue a lot…’

She dips her head. ‘Yes,’ she says with a smile. ‘I’ve noticed.’

He flushes.

‘But,’ she says, ‘I’ve also noticed that he listens to you. When he’s being…how did you put? Obnoxious and self-important and superior?’

He grins, swiping a hand across his forehead to brush aside his fringe and getting flour everywhere in the process. Molly laughs and resists the urge to spell him clean.

‘You also listen to him,’ she says, ‘when you’re being stubborn and self-deprecating and too nice.’

‘Too nice?’ he asks, raising his eyebrows and staring at her. ‘I’m too nice.’

‘You do have a problem saying no,’ she says, thinking of the other day when George had convinced Harry to “endorse” some new item of his to “boost sales”.

Harry sighs. ‘Yeah,’ he says, shoulders deflating. ‘I guess so.’

‘You and Ginny,’ she says slowly, carefully considering her words. ‘You were good friends, and I hope you’ll remain that way for a long time.’

‘Of course,’ says Harry, eyes flashing up, wide and surprised.

She smiles at him. ‘But,’ she adds. ‘You never quite balanced each out. You tended to ignite each other’s fire, and, while that can sometimes be good in a relationship, a fire that burns too hot will burn out too quickly. You and Draco, on the other hand. You balance each other out.’

‘I…yeah, I guess we do,’ he says in a quiet voice, running a hand through his hair again. ‘I just…he can be so, I mean…ugh. Why is this so difficult?’

Molly chuckles. ‘Love often is,’ she says, offering him a conspiratorial smile. ‘That’s how you know it’s worth it.’

Harry’s shoulders droop. ‘Except I went and ruined everything,’ he says.

Molly chuckles. ‘Oh my dear,’ she says, ‘You teenagers are always so dramatic. If there’s anything I’ve learned it’s that love is not so easily ruined.’

Harry frowns. He swallows and shuffles his weight from foot to foot. ‘But I…I didn’t say it back. He said…he said…’

‘I heard,’ she says.

Harry flushes, his spoon stilling in the mixture. ‘I just…’ he turns to her, his eyes wide behind his glasses. ‘He’s always so confident, and I’m…I’m not like that. I can’t just…’

‘Say I love you?’ she asks.

He drops his gaze, shrugging his shoulders nervously and running his hand through his hair again. ‘Yeah,’ he says softly, absently swirling the spoon through the mixture. ‘I don’t know what to do. What if he hates me now? All because I can’t...’

Molly sets aside the base mixture and, heedless of Harry’s usual insecurities, pulls him into a hug—batter fingers and all.

‘I imagine,’ she says into his hair, ‘Draco is the sort of person who would not express his feelings unless he was very sure of himself.’ She gives him a soft squeeze, before releasing him. ‘And of you.’

He blinks and his face turns crimson. ‘You think—’ He swallows. ‘You think he knows? I mean that I…that I’m…’

She smiles indulgently and squeezes his shoulders once more. ‘I think he knows,’ she says. ‘And I think, if he knows anything at all, that he will be just fine waiting to hear you say it.’

***

By the time Draco steps back into the kitchen, Harry has managed to calm down. His hair, as usual, is a mess, and throughout the entire slice-baking process, Molly has to resist the urge to Scourgify flour from the wayward tangle of almost-curls. When Draco pauses in the doorway, one hand still on the door as his eyes latch onto Harry and go wide, she suddenly finds herself very glad that she didn’t attempt to clean the boy up.

Draco’s gaze travels over the floury hair, the smear of lemon curd on his chin, the goofy and relaxed smile, and his mouth pops open, his pupils dilating in his surprise.

By the time Harry looks up, Draco has recomposed himself, but not before Molly sees the smitten expression on his face. She turns her head away, smiling down at the tray in front of her. She had thought her days of watching lovestruck teenagers interact were over, and yet, seeing Draco and Harry before her now, she is suddenly glad that not _all_ her children have grown up quite so quickly.

‘Honestly, Potter,’ says Draco with a roll of his eyes, stepping over to Harry and brushing flour out of his hair. ‘Is there _any_ situation in which you don’t become a disastrous mess?’

Harry’s emotions war across his face. Indignation, hope, annoyance, pleasure. ‘It’d hardly call a bit of flour a “disastrous mess”,’ he grumbles.

Draco raises one eyebrow and uses a thumb to clean away the smear of lemon curd. Harry swallows, red swarming up his neck into his hairline. ‘That’s because no one ever taught you how to be clean,’ Draco says dryly. ‘Well, that is, until you got here.’

He glances sideways at Molly, offering her a reluctant smile. ‘Thank Merlin _someone_ took you in,’ he says to Harry, ‘or who knows how you’d have turned out.’

A surprising burst of pleased gratitude rumbles through Molly at that and she finds herself feeling almost affectionate towards the cantankerous young man now in her charge.

‘Er,’ Harry shifts his weight from foot to foot. ‘Look can I…can I talk to you? About before?’

Draco looks away. ‘I don’t see that there’s anything to talk about.’

‘Draco,’ Harry sighs, and his gaze flashes to Molly.

She gives him an encouraging nod and then turns to busy herself with the oven.

Harry sighs again. ‘Look I—No one’s ever said… _that_ to me. Not anyone. Ever. I…I was surprised. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

Silence. Molly chances a quick glance and sees an expression of incredulity on Draco’s face. ‘You think you _offended_ me?’

‘I—well I—I just meant…look this isn’t easy for me, okay?’

Draco raises an eyebrow. ‘Those relatives of yours really did a number on you didn’t they?’

Harry’s gaze drops to the floor and he shrugs, twisting the wooden spoon between his hands. ‘I guess,’ he mutters. ‘Like you need any other reasons to hate Muggles.’

Draco touches Harry’s shoulder. It’s a light touch, hesitant but kind. Harry glances up, his fringe shielding his eyes.

‘I hate _those_ Muggles,’ says Draco. ‘Not sure I hate all of them.’ He offers Harry a small smile.

Surprise flashes across Harry’s face. Surprise and hope. ‘Er, right,’ he says. ‘So…so we’re good?’

‘Yes, Potter, we’re good.’

‘And about—about what you said. I…I’ll try. I mean not that I don’t, because I do, but I mean I’ll try and—what I mean is—ugh, I’m so bad at this. I just—‘

‘Potter,’ says Draco, and his smirk is full of exasperated affection. ‘I know.’

**Author's Note:**

> I really, _really_ enjoyed writing this. Really enjoyed it.  
> There weren't a lot of prompts for this one, but I feel like I nailed the happy ending part. Other than that, I really wanted to focus on Molly Weasley as my Giftee mentioned that they identify with her, and I ended up having a lot of fun with it. I'm hoping you love it as much as I do.  
> Also, in a happy coincidence, I had Taylor Swift (mostly her song "I Think He Knows") playing basically on repeat the whole time I wrote it (hence the title).


End file.
